


The Virgin Queen

by TheAstronomer



Category: Historical RPF, The Virgin Queen (TV)
Genre: Anne Marie Duff - Freeform, Elizabethan, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, Infidelity, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Probably inaccurate?, Tom Hardy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 07:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16551629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAstronomer/pseuds/TheAstronomer
Summary: He had never had the gall to enter her bedchamber before; they played games, teased one another with mouths and fingers and words in dim corners but it always stopped short. Because she stopped it. But here, in her bed, in a state half between sleep and awake, when he came to her; this time he did not stop.





	The Virgin Queen

Uninvited. That was how Robbie was described at Court, Elizabeth was more than aware. More than aware of the suspicion and jealousy which surrounded them. It did not stop them snatching moments in alcoves and dark corridors, when he would push her against the rough stone and brush his thick, hot lips over the thin skin on her neck where her pulse fluttered madly. It was not right, no it was not. He was not invited, but he was not cast out. Not in these moments. _My own Lord Robert_. He knew how far to push. When to call her Bess and when to call her Your Majesty, when to snake his hands under her dress and petticoats to her cold thighs and rub, rub the chill away, inching ever upwards, a secret smile against her throat where he pressed his nose, breathing in her scent. Always stopping though, before her shaking legs betrayed her and fell open to him entirely.

  
He knew how to catch her attention, always, even in a crowd, Robbie would be the singular thing her eye sought out, his head tilted to display the earring she gave him above his ruff – so pretty, like a girl, a beautiful girl, with his luminous skin. Pressing his fingers to his lips with his eyes fixed on hers. He was like a sickness in her – a fever she must dampen down. She would have her ladies lace her ever tighter into her dresses – _tighter_ – there would be more layers, more petticoats, more stiff damask skirts, a bodice which hid her breasts, her red hair elaborately curled, bright like shards of light beneath a French hood of delicate lace dotted with the most beautiful pearls. The layered ruff which circled her throat so his hand could not touch the slender stem of her neck and make her fall into him once more. Her clothes were her armour. He would bow to her sardonically; she willed him to recognise the warning in the flare of her nostrils, the crease between her eyebrows – _Do not push me_. But what did he _ever_ do but push her.

  
And the best times? When they rode out on a horse together, as they had done as children, all those years ago. When Elizabeth would forget she was queen, forget Robbie was married, forget that she must be regal and in control of herself – she was a wild girl again with him. Then he was nothing but freedom to her – his dense body pressed into hers as they shared the saddle, her in front of him, always. No restrictive clothes, only simple dresses, like those she wore back then too, displaying her delicate curves, her rabbit bone clavicles, the sharp jut of her shoulder blades moving against his chest. And his mouth at her ear, his hot breath, his dark laugh, urging her on: ‘Faster Bess, faster now.’ Her head would fall back at the sheer exhilaration of it, the loss of herself and the knowledge that he would not let her fall, would not let them lose their way in the forest, would guide them out even if she was blind and deaf to any danger. _Or would he_?

  
Robbie was nothing if not ambitious and Elizabeth knew the complicated forces which worked in him: lust for her, there was no mistaking, but Robbie also enjoyed power and position. And she was the most powerful woman in England.

  
Elizabeth could not deny the inevitability of it, but it still took her by surprise. He had never had the gall to enter her bedchamber before; they played games, teased one another with mouths and fingers and words in dim corners but it always stopped short. Because she stopped it. But here, in her bed, in a state half between sleep and awake, when he came to her; this time he did not stop _._

  
‘Let me, Bess,’ he said. And: ‘I will not hurt you.’

  
There was no armour between them now, the full weight of their desire for one another was revealed in a place where there were no prying eyes and no-one to judge Elizabeth. So her legs would part for him, willingly, without her guilty hand a barrier against his hand, her lips would open for his, her tongue meeting his tongue, instead of turning her head away. She allowed herself to be stripped by him, as though it was a clean slate that was revealed and not her own pale body, opening like a glowing flower. His undershirt was removed hastily and she at last was able to feel the full length of his body alongside hers. Fingers which had never been able to breach the hard shield of her bodice now grasped her breast as his lips closed over the nipple with a groan. Elizabeth looked down at the bowed head of her Robbie and vowed that it would be once, only once she would let him in. And then she closed her eyes and gave in to the sensation of the man she loved engulfing her entirely, his hand sliding over her thigh, her stomach, between her breasts; now a warm glide, down to where her legs opened for him and he tangled his fingers briefly in the hair there, ducking his head down to glance and exclaim with a laugh: ‘Ah, red there too, Bess!’. And her own hands wandered greedily over the hard muscles of his arms, his neck, his own thighs, clutching at his hair as he dipped a finger into her wet cunt, testing the tightness while she bit her lip and took a sharp breath.

  
‘I will not hurt you,’ he murmured again, spreading some of her wetness and beginning a light, skimming slide over the bundle of nerves which had become the centre of Elizabeth’s world. ‘It will be the better for it, Bess...’ His voice was low and hoarse and she felt him shake slightly, the beat of his heart hard against her breast where her own heart was thumping. He was holding back, she realised, the tension of it making his jaw clench against her cheek. He slid the finger slightly deeper into her, pausing to let her acclimatise to the feeling, tongue laving her neck and moving to catch her ear lobe between his teeth. So slow and patient, the last coherent part of her mind was amazed that her impetuous Robbie, her energetic friend, who flew headlong into every undertaking, was able to restrain himself in this way. While there was discomfort for her, the sting of the breach that one, then two, of his fingers made, there was also a deep flush of pleasure underlying it, that made her clench her thighs around his hand momentarily as her eyes sought out his. _Is this how it should be_?

  
‘Touch me, Bess.’ His own eyes heavy-lidded and his lip caught in his teeth as his thumb continued its slow, hard grind over her wet nub while his fingers stretched her further. She reached down between his legs to catch the hard shaft of his cock where it lay against his taut stomach and this too produced a deep shuddering groan from him. She marvelled at the hardness of it, that it would fit into her and that she wanted it to. All the stories of pain and blood she had heard at the taking of maidenhood had been forgotten, and she only wanted to have Robbie inside her now. To her surprise, he lay back suddenly on the bed, urging her up astride him, hands kneading her buttocks. Elizabeth looked down at him, frowning.

  
‘It will be easier for you this way.’

  
Guiding her hand to his cock again, she lowered herself gradually onto him, the sensation so much fuller than his fingers had been. She could not help a low whine as she stretched around him. A moment of panic came and went as he angled his hips upwards into her slowly, his hands holding her shaking thighs steady. Another slow pull back and push in, his infinitesimal movements allowing the burn of the entry into her to pass by degrees. His eyes fixed on her face as his fingers brushed over her lips, dipping into the wet warmth of her mouth.

  
‘Bess...’

  
‘Robbie, I will not stop now. I want more.’

  
She sank fully on to him then and his mouth fell open, his eyes turned up to the ceiling, a dark flush spreading over his chest. _My beautiful Robbie_. For although he took her, although he must break into her body in this way, the power was hers. Her movements on him were clumsy at first, a broken rhythm until her body learned what to do. He wanted her to go slow, hands controlling her movement, his eyes devouring her body as it rocked on top of him and he reared up to take her breasts into his mouth again, the sweet, wet pressure of his lips on her.

  
‘Cover me, Robbie. I want you on me...’

  
A deft twist had her under him, this angle another sensation to grow accustomed to. He began pushing into her harder, there was a loss of control approaching in him, she could see it in his darkening eyes. He lifted her legs to fasten them around him and bowed his head as he fucked hard into her now. She found she was able to take this change in intensity, her body had begun to loosen and unfurl, her fist clenched loosely against his shoulder, the other on the back of his thick neck. There was something changing in her too, a sensation increasing rapidly to an almost unbearable level.

  
‘I feel... there is something... Do not stop Robbie!’

  
He gave a bark of laughter and pulled back briefly to look at her.

  
‘Oh I will not stop, my love. Believe me.’

  
Then his hand was down there again, stroking her even as he pushed her higher with his cock, so when she went over the crest of her orgasm it was a long, hard fall; her shuddering breath, the wordless noise she made, the clench of her around him - her own sweet Robbie. She had barely caught her own breath before his rhythm became disjointed and the last few hard strokes of his hips into her were punctuated by a groan against her neck.

  
Their recovery was slow and strangely shy. Elizabeth felt wetness trickle between her legs and when she rose to pull on her chemise again, there was a little blood along with a sharp ache there. Robbie pulled her against him, his lips on her forehead. Elizabeth felt herself harden a little, as she must do. A return to herself, the queen of England.

  
‘My ladies must not see this blood. And you must leave.’  
Robbie frowned, reaching for her.  
‘I thought we might...’  
‘This will not happen again, Robbie. This was not me. You are married.’

  
She saw the veil of anger draw down over his face, as she had since they were children. The other side of Robbie, the petulant, greedy child who must always have what he wanted.

  
‘As you wish, your majesty.’ His voice was hard and he turned his face away from her.

  
‘I value your counsel in court. I am surrounded by people who want their own piece of power. I need you to be loyal, Robbie. As you have been.’

  
He did not look at her, but she saw a movement in his jaw, a softening.

  
‘Always, Bess.’

 

 


End file.
